Will Power
by BrokenSmiles28
Summary: Arabell was only supposed to do a routine mission, get in and out quickly and leave with more gold than she had come. At least until everything went completely wrong. Shackled and kidnapped, she struggles to find the willpower to carry on, unsure if this is the end of her line. Can she survive from a few hopes, and hide in the safety of her mind? Or will this hero's fate be sealed?
1. Chapter 1

"Are you sure you're going to be alright on your own?" Marcurio asked, his arms crossed firmly across his chest. Arabell smiled at him over her shoulder, continuing to pack her back and ignoring the constant, repetitive question.

"I'm an adult, Marc, I'll be fine." She picked up the tough leather bag, slinging it over her shoulder. He grumbled looking away, huffing about the whole situation. She laughed and turned to look through the extensive weapon rack.

"It's a two-day trip, at most" She said, cocking her head, a wide smile planted on her lips.

"I'm aware how long it's going to take," he retaliated, walking over and looking at the sword she was inspecting carefully in her hands. "You're going to be completely alone, and this isn't the first time one of these...'missions'...has gone south." She gave him a look of comedic impatience, raising her eyebrow.

"Marcurio, you're jealous." He glared at her, causing her to laugh as she sheathed the sword. She shifted her gaze up at him, a playful glint in her eye. He sighed heavily, trying to keep a frown and failing. Arabell held her arm out, as he rolled his eyes and copied her. They bumped fists, in a way practiced a thousand times over. He was still annoyed, and let his emotions show through, but helped her gather the rest of the items for her trip none the less. Arabell fixed her armor, opening the door, her map and the contract tucked carefully into her front pocket. She glanced once more over her shoulder at her companion. The sparkle of adrenaline new adventure brought in her eye, offering a wave as she stepped out into the blistery wind, leaving a concerned look still on his face.

She took the northern road from the house, wandering along as she followed the vague instructions of the contract. The thieves guild had been busy ever since its return to power, taking on jobs that challenged its limitations and power. Recently, they had been dabbling in rare goods across Skyrim that sold for hefty prices, and almost always heavily guarded. Arabell didn't mind getting her hands bloody and was usually the one they sent. Although this time, she was without her companion. This job was particular in its details, requiring a bit of careful planning, and a lot of stealthy work. Delvin had insisted that the group guarding this artifact (who called themselves 'The Wolfstone Gang') were of value to the guild. After much bargaining and debate, they had decided to kill as little of the members as possible and continue profiting from the group and declaring there power that was not to be challenged.

Arabell was the right fit for the job. After years of practiced stealth and silent killing, no one else could match up to her skills, or her inherently violent nature. However, the same could not be said for her companion. He was strong of course, and could hold his own in many ways. Though he lacked her years of stealth and shadow work, and there was too great a risk for him to draw attention to them. Reluctantly, she asked him to stay home.

He was extremely dissatisfied with her decision, and spend the entire day mentioning the things that could go wrong, nagging her continually in an attempt to change her mind.

No matter, she was determined to go off on her own. Despite his worried and repetitive suggestions, she was a warrior. Hundreds of caves, forts, and ruins had shaped her into a fearsome fighter, and someone that shouldn't be trifled with. She walked down the road, a smile on her face and perk in her steps. A fortune of gold in her several homes, trophies, and weapons galore, and a prominent legacy shouldered her way. The old fort was something new, nowhere she had ever been. It lay hidden in the far southern mountains, neatly tucked against the border of Skyrim. It was a challenge she welcomed and embraced. Travel was easy, and even boring at times. It usually consisted of wandering long roads, sleeping at Inn's or under the stars, and rationing food. Fortunately, it was only a short trip to her destination. She pulled the worn paper out of her jacket pocket, reading over the contract once more and checking her directions. "Misty Rock Fort", how poetic. She stuffed the paper back into her sturdy leather jacket, adjusting the sword on her back and the spare fastened to her hip. Adventure was waiting, and she was going to seek it.

After several hours of intervals consisting of walking and rest, she neared her destination. The bandits had certainly picked a remote location. She followed the worn stony path high into the snowy mountains, thankful for the warmth her armor provided. A small white fox sensed her, its ears perked as she came closer before darting into a maze of small rocks and shrubbery. As she drew nearer, the playful nature melted away as it always did in these times. She began treading more carefully, her eyes peeled for any sign of movement. The snow blew softly, leaving a fresh blanket that covered her tracks. She saw the tops of the towers just behind a group of large rocks. There it was. Old tattered flags blew in the merciless cold wind, and she could spot at least one scout. She slipped a pair of gloves on, carefully scaling behind the rocks to stay hidden. In this snowstorm, the range of the scouts and archers would be significantly impaired, and it was likely they wouldn't even see her infiltrate the fort. She began to mentally calculate the least damaging route, after all, she had to leave a few alive. She glanced around at the few patrol guards, there were enough that she could slip inside with only a few casualties. Arabell dug through her jacket, searching for the contract. She heard a noise, shooting her head up in time to see a man standing over her. He swung a sword aiming for her head, and she let go instinctively. The ragged rock dug into her skin as she slid down its frozen slope, tumbling back as she hit the ground. She sprung to her feet, quickly assessing the situation. Arabell gripped her sword, drawing the blade and taking a few defensive steps back. The armored man charged down the slope at her. The clashed hard, iron sparks flying and dodging each others blows, each with killer intent. It was terrifyingly beautiful art, dangerous and rhythmic. He swung and her head, causing her to duck and take out his feet. He crashed to the ground onto his back.

He struggled to get up as she walked over, raising her sword to finish him off. A sudden sharp pain caught her off guard and caused her to look down. An arrow had grazed her leg and stuck in the snow a few inches away, and a tiny gash was left on her skin. She picked up the arrow, looking at the dark liquid on it that wasn't blood. Poison. That was no accidental shot, and by the time she realized what it was, it was too late. She stumbled, struggling to stay standing and falling into the snow. Her arms grew weaker and gave out underneath her body, dragging her down to the cold unforgiving earth. She laid half-conscious in the snow, reaching desperately for her sword in a vain attempt to protect herself, but failed as numbness emptied itself into her limbs. Her vision grew blurry, coaxing her to sleep and pushing away her thoughts, cold and calming fingers gripping at her mind. The last thing she saw was two figures walking towards her body before she blacked out completely.


	2. Chapter 2

A dull fuzzy feeling washed over her body as her head spun. She began to regain her consciousness, slowly realizing she could hardly move. At first, she assumed it was the after-effects of the poison coursing through her blood, but soon it became clear something was enabling her from moving. She forced herself to focus, opening her eyes and blinking in the bright light. Cold metal pressed against her wrists, keeping her in place. She stood a bit, realizing slowly where she was. Her thick and protective armor had been replaced with ragged clothing that barely covered her body, and her wrists were chained loosely to the wall she was standing up against. Across the room was a rotting corpse, chained in the same fashion as herself, dried blood splattered around it. She regretfully looked at the table next to her. It was full of various blades and tools, most of them bloody, and several bottles of poisons. Her armor, she guessed, sat in the large chest under the table across the room. This was a torture chamber. She struggled briefly, before deciding that was in vain. Her wrists were too far apart to slip out of the cuffs, and she had no lock-picks otherwise. The dungeon was large and chilly, even with a fireplace against the wall. At least she wasn't lying dead in the snow. Her mind raced for a way out, and when she found none, she began to cling to a solitary hope. Three days, she and Marcurio had a three-day policy. If one of them was gone longer than intended, there was a reason to be alarmed. If she could survive, there was a chance, if a small one, that he would find her.

Voices echoed down the hallway coming closer to where she was. She clenched her teeth, inching back against the wall. A large bearded man entered, accompanied by a tall, slender woman with short ragged hair and war paint across her face. She smiled wide, a disgustingly sweet look of false innocence.

"I see you're awake. It's not often we have visitors." She glanced over to the rotting corpse and they both cackled, the scent of alcohol heavy from their putrid breath. She looked in the blonde's eyes with a blank expression, challenging her with one look, 'I'm not scared of you'. The blonde bandit kept her smirk.

"How rude of me not to introduce myself. My name is Kyra, and I'm the leader of this clan. Now, what were you doing in my territory?" Arabell remained silent, keeping eye contact. Kyra's expression changed to a cold look, as she pursed her lips together.

"She asked you a question." The man spoke, stepping forward. Arabell smirked.

"Sorry," She said sweetly, "I don't answer to whores" The anger in both their faces flared up. Kyra nodded to the man, who promptly punched her across the face. She felt the pain radiate through her jaw, but it was nothing new. A lifetime of fighting for her own had honed her to grow accustomed to beatings. She shook her head a bit as the woman moved closer. Kyra grabbed her hair, ripping her head back and forcing her to look into her eyes. Arabell remained un-phased, a stone cold look on her face. The wicked wench stepped back, looking her over.

"You don't seem to understand me." She spoke, a sharp cool trill in her voice as she mused over the knives. "I merely want to show you the error of your ways, for trespassing on my territory." Arabel laughed.

"Your territory?" She repeated. "What are you, a dog?" Anger swirled in Kyra's eyes, as she grew more impatient. Arabell knew what she meant, of course, bandits were as territorial as wild animals, and they fought will the same ferocity. Every crack and crevice in Skyrim was littered with them, snapping at each other's throats for local power, a grab basket of utter chaos. If she wasn't shackled to the wall, she could be headed home right now, a celebratory drink in her hand and a fatter pouch of gold. Her only option now was the survive.

The bandit leader waved her hand, a signal to her lackey. Another fist came, colliding with her stomach this time and knocking the air clean from her lungs. She coughed and gasped, balling her fists and glaring at him. When she got out of this, he would be the first to die.

"I trust you're only going to give me smart ass remarks, so I'll leave you with some of my friends, after all, the best way to teach a lesson is through the pain." She walked towards the exit, the door swinging wide open without her ever having to touch it, total loyalty to serving her in each ragged bandits eyes. It was disgusting. She shifted her glance back to the tall, muscular man, who smiled at her with horrid intent. He let his hand trail over the table and the instruments on them, picking up several and rolling them around in his calloused hands. She rolled her eyes, as he stalled on, trying to pick out a tool. Arabell weighed her options mentally. She could shout, but then her mouth would be bound shut, and her only real defense would be gone. There was the option of using destruction magic, but her stamina was two week, combined with how little she used magic, and taking down one of them would sap all of her energy. The brute held a curved knife, inspecting it and testing its sharpness. He glanced at her, staring at her vulnerable self, before suddenly cutting into her arm.

She gritted her teeth, repressing a yell that threatened to escape her lips. Blood began to pool out of the cut, dripping down her arm and sending droplets of crimson to the cold floor. Her wrists pulled at the iron shackles, a fire of rage in her eyes. Her blood ran faster, hot anger threatening to spill over any minute as the man moved to her left. This time he pressed the sharp blade against her skin, before slowly pulling it downward. It tore into her flesh, causing a yelp to escape her lips. The blade was wet with her blood, the man inspected it before setting the knife down in search of another. Arabell tried not to look at her bleeding arms, adrenaline pumping through her chest and begging her to fight back. She had to remain calm, one wrong move and they would kill her without question. To these murders and plunders, trash thriving in the far corners of Skyrim, her life had no value. There was no moral or virtue in their eyes, only lust for gold and pleasure.

"Hey, jackass." She said, still ignoring the hot pain paralyzing both her arms. "Whats your name?" She said. He picked up a silver knife, pouring a liquid over it silently. She smirked, knowing there was nothing he could do about her remarks. It was apparent she was already going to be sliced apart, why would her words make any difference. "Are you deaf, or just stupid?" The man didn't respond, but she could see in the way he stiffened that her remarks were getting to him. She cracked her neck, pushing away the pain and any panic to the back of her mind. The man walked over, the blade he was holding covered in a watery, deep gray liquid. Arabell clamped her jaw but managed a challenging smirk. It was frostbite venom, harvested from giant spiders. She usually kept a few bottles in her bag, and it would be alright to assume that very venom was hers. He pressed the blade to her left arm, where the fresh cut was still bleeding. Freezing pain burned up her arm slowly, spreading through her whole body. A small scream echoed around the room, as her body reacted to the poison. She had been bitten by spiders before, but this was a new pain. The pure venom was coursing through her veins, nearly sending her body into shock. He pulled the blade away, tossing it on the table next to her and leaning in. She could smell his disgusting breath, a mix of rotting teeth and too much mead as he spoke. His voice was low and raspy, like the sound of smooth rocks rubbing together.

"Call me stupid again." he spoke, before leaving the room. The large iron door slammed shut behind him, and the sound of a lock sliding into place bounced around the room. Arabell was still fighting the pain, caught up between the bleeding, and the strong venom. She felt herself slipping dangerously close to unconsciousness. Her feet shifted beneath her, desperately trying to support the weight of her staggering and drugged body. A memory floated through her mind.

"Will you keep up." Arabell whispered, crouching behind a large chunk of stone. Marcurio sighed, clearly annoyed, but stepped up his pace.

"Perhaps you should be slowing down," He remarked, glancing around the opposite corner. "These old ruins are usually full of traps." She mulled over the thought, shifting her grip on the heavy war hammer. She looked around her own corner, huffing over the scolding she received. There were two draugar sulking around, eyes lightened with life, and bodies decaying slowly. Arabell turned, signaling to her follower the plan. He nodded, and they both waited a few seconds, as silence filled the cavern. In an instant, they were both on their feet, balance, and precision in their steps as they raced around each side. The clumsy corpse swung his blade at her throat, causing her to slide past it on her knees. She heard a lightning bolt strike the other, sending its body staggering back. Arabell stopped herself, kicking off the ground and turning her body completely. She launched herself onto the draugar, her hammer barreling down on its chest. The light drained from its eyes, as she shoved her foot into its ribs, pulling the hammer from its body. Marcurio was handling the other, and with a flash, its body collapsed with a sickening, cracking sound.

She made her way over to him when something stirred out of the corner of her eye. A sword suddenly swung at her, causing Arabell to throw herself out of the way. She tumbled to the ground, landing on the cold floor. They had missed one. She stood, motioning for it to come at her. The desecrated corpse shambled its way over to her, flinging its weapons at her clumsily, but with brute force. She used the bar of her weapon to block the blows, stepping backward, and looking for an opening to strike. The clumsy zombie brought its sword straight up, aiming to strike it down in her, when an ice spike shot through its chest. It fell to the ground with a thud at her feet. Arabell slung her hammer over her back, setting it in its holster with a sigh. She took a step, opening her mouth to speak when the ground shifted a bit underneath her. A pressure plate gave way, and a trap door opened, sending heavy rocks down. A hand grabbed her and ripped her forward, barely missing the boulders. She looked at him in shock for a moment, before sighing in relief.

"That's two for me, and zero for you." Marcurio boasted playfully. She glared, causing him to laugh. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and soon she couldn't hold back laughing with him in the empty, echoing halls.


	3. Chapter 3

Arabell woke in pain, groggy from the venom. She shook the dream from her mind and tried to focus back in on the world around her. She was alone for now, and from what she could tell, it was late at night. The hallway was dimly lit, and the room was even darker. She glanced at the gashes in the light of the dying fire. The blood had mostly clotted her wound, but the burning sensation still remained, and a cold sting of venom still flashed through her body occasionally. Arabell shook her head, attempting to clear the fog from her mind. She tested the wrist restraints, finding them still tightly locked around her sore wrists. It sounded quiet, and she guessed it was either late night or very early morning. The silence was almost unbearable, and if not for the occasional crackle of the fire, she might go insane. The recesses of her mind were her only safety and comfort, clinging to hope and possibilities that ran rampant through her mind. Minutes passed, turning into hours, as she lost track of time altogether, as there were no windows anywhere in view. Struggling drained her energy, as she sighed and thought back to the trip here. It was stupid to come alone, and her pride had blinded her to the truth. A job like this would obviously be heavily guarded, a web of intricate traps and locks, possible false paths, and of course greedy bandits. She leaned her head back, resting it against the wall and sighing deeply. There was no way out of this one, and if help didn't come, her life was over.

The door swung open suddenly, snapping her from her thoughts and bout of regret. Kyra came in, looking primped and primed for the day, with a black-robed man trailing behind her.

"I hope you slept well." She said, her eyes radiating with hatred. Arabell ignored her completely, glancing at the man. His face was shrouded in a thick hood, and his arms hung at his sides. Kyra followed her gaze, a cruel smile spreading over her face. Arabell assumed that wasn't a good sign. She studied the man, a bit of hope draining out of her as she realized his intent. His robes were pure black, shimmering with a red energy that radiated off his fingertip. He was a mage, specialized in destruction, and he was here to severely hurt her. She kept her jaw clamped shut, watching his movements behind Kyra, who was rambling on about respect. Arabell looked at Kyra suddenly, a sly smirk upon her lips.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that, I promise I won't listen this time." She said, her voice rich with sarcasm. Kyra pursed her lips together, before backhanding her. Arabell slowly turned her head back, the smirk still in place. Kyra was failing to keep her composure, hot rage apparent on her face. She leaned closer.

"I'll leave you two to make each other's acquaintance." She turned on her heel, her steel boots clanking as she left.

The mage pulled his hood off, a scrappy, bearded man in his mid-thirties. He looked at her, wringing his hands and not saying a word. There was a curiosity in his eyes she didn't like. The way he studied her, the glint of something off about the mage, it was obvious she was his guinea pig. A sudden blue and white light swirled to life in his palms, circling lightning swirled around in his hands. She stiffened, it was the same magic Marcurio used, often to fight alongside her, or to defend her, and now it was being used to harm her. She tried to keep the panic off her face, balling her fists and pulling harder at the shackles. She met his gaze, noticing the large grin on his face.

"It's been awhile," He mused, his words slow spoken "since I've had a test subject." Arabell stayed silent, looking at the man in front of her. He wasn't necessarily fit, and in fact, he almost looked ghastly. His eyes were sunken, dark circles under each of them, and his hands and wrists were thin. By her guess, he probably practiced necromancy and other dark arts. He stepped closer, swaying on his own feet as he studied her. She twisted, trying to keep away from the lightning radiating from his hand.

"You have an extraordinary amount of energy." He spoke, hot breath reaching her. "I look forward to breaking you."

He stepped away from her, holding his hand out causing sparks to shoot into her body. Arabell opened her mouth to scream, but no sound escaped, a silent echo muffled by the crackling sound of raw power. White hot pain shot through her, searing at every nerve in her body and blinding her with agony. Her body jolted against the wall as the sparks finally stopped. She was shaking involuntarily and breathing heavy, trying to recover from the electric energy. Her wrists hurt, the metal shackles had burned her skin badly and down her arms. The mage pulled out a journal, making some notes to himself and muttering about the burns that remained. Arabell was on the verge of blacking out, her vision swirling with darkness. A sudden golden light wrapped around her body, and a soothing feeling with it. The burns on her arms receded to her wrists, and her body stopped shaking. Restoration magic, he planned on keeping her awake. Arabell regained herself enough to become more aware of what the man was doing. He picked up a small tool, a curved and pointed sort of hook. Arabell scoffed, causing him to look over.

"Pointy little hooks for a guy like you? Oh, come on." She spoke, challenging him with her voice. He glared, before replacing it with a devious smile. The mage walked over to her right side, digging the point of the blade into her burned skin.

She screamed this time, as the blade dug deep into her sensitive flesh. The pain was blinding, and soon she couldn't hear herself scream anymore. It was hard to tell when he finally stopped slicing because the pain didn't subside. Arabell had her teeth clenched, holding back from screaming in gut-wrenching pain at the sliced skin. The mage studied her arm, making notes in his journal as the blood dripped down her arm. Arabell forced herself to focus on something else, not wanting to let the pain cloud her thoughts and rob her of opportunity. Her breath was coming out in short, ragged gasps that began to steam the air. The mages back was turned, bend over a table looking for some hidden bottle. She tried to calm her anger, the power threatening to roll off her tongue at any moment. There were too many of them to take while she was restrained, and shouts took time to recharge. A huff of fire came from her mouth before her breathing shifted back to normal. The robed man hummed, mixing potions together of foul ingredients that carried the smell of rotten meat and stomach bile. He flipped through several books, combining his concoction with sickening precision. It looked like some sort of elixir an alcohol base combined with whatever morbid pieces he had collected. He poured the black liquid into a bottle, corking it off, before speaking up.

"Thank you for the blood donation." He said, pompous arrogance thick in his voice. "I get so weary these days, this little brew really keeps me going." Without hesitation, he shook the bottle, popping its cork and taking a swig. His face twisted in disgust for a moment, before relaxing back to normal. He set down the bottle, rolling up his sleeves. "Now where were we." The sparks exploded back to life in his hands, and the look of no mercy settled back into his drained and cruel face. Arabell didn't make an attempt to move, she knew what was coming, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.


	4. Chapter 4

A small snow hare sat upon a rock, softly grooming its ears and shaking the freshly fallen flakes from its back. Its tiny nose turned upwards towards the air, curiously scanning its surroundings and looking for a food source. The birds chirping over its head was nothing but an inconvenience for the rabbit, along with the snowfall and the frozen stream that struggled to keep moving. It hopped a few paces, sipping the chilly water when a rustling branch startled it. The rabbit was frozen, staring at the source of the sound in fear, its nose and ears twitching. Behind it, Arabell peaked through the brush, and arrow knocked upon her bow and drawn back fully. She breathed in slowly, the world around her seeming to slow. Ambient noises reached her ears, the water slapping against small pebbles, a few newborn bird chirping softly above her, and the rabbits quick breathing. Just as her fingertips were about to release the string, a loud crackling sound somewhere from behind her startled her out of the stance. She fired the bow, the arrow bouncing off several rocks as the rabbit took note, bolting into the underbrush. She dropped her bow in frustration, turning to see Marcurio behind her. A furious look was upon her face as she let out a low, unamused growl. Marcurio looked guilty, energy in both his hands that quickly dissipated.

"Do you have any idea what you just did." Arabell snapped, hunger controlling her emotions. "I've been tracking that rabbit for half a mile through the snow and you single-handedly RUIN my shot in one second!" He smiled sheepishly, a hint of something on his face that she couldn't decipher. Her emotions, however, kept speaking for her.

"Arabell-" He said, putting his hands up in a defensive manner. She cut him off.

"We are completely OUT of food! We're in the middle of nowhere! And that would have been dinner. WHAT could you possibly have to say to that?!" She shouted. He was obviously trying not to laugh, but before she could open her mouth again, he pointed to the left, where the noise had originally come from. She let her eyes pan over, scanning the area, confused at what she was searching for, when she saw it. A small, young deer was sprawled on the ground. The lighting had almost instantly cooked it, and would be more than enough food for several days. Arabell paused for a moment, before glancing back over to Marcurio, who couldn't resist the laughter anymore. She flushed, realizing how harshly she had just scolded him over a rabbit. He walked past her towards the deer, patting her shoulder with a huge grin.

"Let's get this cooked before you rip my head off," he joked. "You get angry when you're hungry." She huffed, kicking over a small pile of rocks before picking her bow up. Arabell couldn't help but smile, heading over to lend a hand with the large animal.

A pale of freezing cold water soaking her woke Arabel from her memories, forcing her back to painful reality. The mage was skillful with his healing, able target small portion of her body at a time. It was enough to keep her conscious, and from losing too much blood, but never enough to take the pain away. She shivered from the water that was now soaking her battered body but enjoyed the cooling relief from her burns. Her body was growing weaker. Thirst and hunger battled against her mind, and combined with the pain, she was slipping. Her host, however, didn't seem to care. He was twirling frost magic around his fingers, whistling some children's tune that she recognized, but couldn't place.

"I hope you're not getting tired on me." He spoke, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. "I was hoping you would last a little longer." She smiled sweetly, before latching her teeth into his hand. He hollered in pain, trying to pull away from his grip. She pushed her teeth further into his skin, biting a chunk off. The mage stumbled back, tripping into his table and sending bottles crashing to the floor. She grimaced at her own actions, spitting the chunk of flesh to the ground, his blood running down her mouth. "Experiment on that you son of a bitch." She said, her soul flaring with adrenaline. The mage, yelped in pain, his hands shaking as he stared at the portion of his hand that was now missing. Quickly, he grabbed a clean rag, wrapping the wound. He glared at her, a searing anger in his eyes before he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Arabell pulled at the shackles, taking this advantage to look around for a chance at an escape. The table had nearly flipped when the clumsy oaf slammed into it, sending items scattering all around the room. She noted the broken glass, few intact bottles, tools, bowls, and ingredients. None of them were within her reach, or helpful in the slightest. She cursed under her breath, eyeing the far, locked trunk that held her things. If she was free, she would slaughter them all in a heartbeat. Her spirit was growing restless. Having the soul of a dragon was usually a benefit on her part, and while it was keeping her wit sharp and her mind sane, it was also pushing her to fight. One wrong move and she might end up dead. In hindsight, biting the mage probably wasn't the best idea, but he was going to continue hurting her either way. She thought of the contract she was assigned and the payoff. The money wasn't worth this, but as the leader of the guild, she didn't need to worry about money anyway. The city of Riften was a second home to her now, the streets quaked as she walked and those that opposed her also feared her. It would be weeks before they realized she was gone. Arabell kicked a bottle in frustration. It rolled fast across the stone, slamming into the wall where it shattered instantly.

There was a time were Arabell wouldn't have even considered venturing into a camp alone. She was younger then, not even an adventurer yet, or some grand legend. Time had made her cocky, and she was paying the price for her arrogance. Years before, when the war tensions had just started and rumors of dragons were spreading through the land, she was a young and frightened girl. With greatness thrust upon her, she had become the center of everyone's hopes, anger, and a political figurehead she never asked for. That's where Marcurio came in. Donning her brand new thick leather armor, courtesy of the thieves guild, she had set foot in the local bar. Timid and unsure of herself she ordered her meal and a drink, wanting nothing more than to relax after such a long day. Some had other plans. Not more than a few seconds she had sat down, two imperial men stood across from her. She looked up in an attempt to speak with them, when a hand shot across, knocking her plate off the table and scattering the food across the floor. Arabell stared at the mess, before slowly turning her gaze back to the men. It was common knowledge that Imperials and Nords did not get along, but this was blatant disrespect.

They were spewing something about getting out of their bar, as the patrons around watched in shock. Arabell slowly stood, walking over to the counter to pay for her meal, followed by the duo who loved the sound of their own rambling voices. She produced a fat pouch of gold, which the barkeep informed her, was too much. She mumbled an apology, making it clear that the extra currency was for the damages. Before anyone could as what that meant, she turned on her heel, sending a punch into one of their faces. The man stumbled back, holding his nose that was gushing blood. The other grabbed a bottle, whipping it at her. Arabell ducked, grabbing a dagger off her belt and slashing his leg. The man let out a small yell of pain, landing a kick her her shins. She grimaced, but quickly threw herself back as the second man launched himself at her. She noticed the knife in his hand, dodging the slashes he made at her. This was turning into much more than a bar fight. Arabell ducked, tripping the man who stumbled in a pathetic attempt to catch himself, before slamming him into a table face first. The wood gave out, sending him to the ground with a groan. She stood, looking down on him, when a foot collided with her legs. She hit the ground, a foot planting itself into her chest. The man grabbed his knife, drunken intent to kill her in his eyes. Others in the bar realized the situation, and jumped up to help, when a bolt of lightning hit the Imperial. He jolted, stunned, and passed out, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

Arabell shoved the man's feet away from her, sitting up to see a hand offered to her. She took it gratefully, standing to a rather handsome man looking right at her.

"You alright?" He asked. She nodded, brushing herself off.

"Thank you." She spoke, looking back to him. "I think they were too drunk to realize what they were doing." Guards were already in the bar, speaking to the barkeep who gave the honest account of what happened.

"You should be more careful in Riften," The man said in a low voice. "It's a dangerous town." Arabell smiled, laughing softly.

"It's one of my first times here really." She said. "I'm new in Skyrim." The man smiled, and eyebrow raised.

"You're a Nord, are you not?" It was a question she was used to being asked. With her bloodline the way it was, most assumed she was born and raised in Skyrim.

"I was actually raised in Cyrodiil." she said, smiling brightly. The curious man nodded.

Arabell looked at the unconscious men, scoffing softly. "I know how imperial men can be." She said.

"That may be true," he spoke up. "But not all of us are so arrogant." Arabell offered her hand to him.

"I'm Arabell." She said. He took her hand, shaking it and meeting her gaze with curiosity.

"Marcurio." He said. "You know, if you're new in Skyrim, I offer mercenary work, I am a master of the arcane arts after all." She had to laugh at his confidence and sassy nature, but the thought rolled around in her head.

"How much do you charge?" She asked.

"500 gold." He spoke, tilting his head a bit. Arabell rummaged around in her bag, pulling out a pouch of gold that added up to his feet. He felt the pouch, making sure the pay wasn't short, before pocketing it.

"Lead the way."

Arabell snapped herself out of the flashback, hearing commotion outside of the door. She tested her arms, finding them still sore and painful from the cuts and burns covering them. She kept her calm, still holding to her hopes that someone would find her. The days were all blurred into one. Between passing out from pain, losing herself in memories, and being tortured relentlessly, it felt like weeks. She had no inkling what the time was, or even what they inevitably planned to do with her. Her fate was a mystery for now. The door suddenly swung open, the mage strolling in, a thick bandage around his hand. Arabell couldn't resist the smug grin across her face, glancing at his injured palm. The mage sneered angrily, strolling into the room with a blazing fire in his eyes. Without even thinking, he stopped, grabbing a knife, and plunging it deep into her leg.

After a brief moment of shock, Arabell screamed, her leg giving out. The man rummaged through his potions and poisons quickly and silently, searching for something. Arabell tried to catch her breath, the knife sticking out from her leg in a grotesque fashion. The blood began to pool down her leg, forming a small puddle under her foot. The man held out his hand, golden light healing the wound around the dagger enough to stop the bleeding, before he grabbed the handle, twisting it. Arabell yelped in pain, gritting her teeth and fighting the screams that were escaping her lips. He ripped the knife out, hot sticky blood gushing down her leg. The mage walked back to his table, letting her bleed and she gasped, recovering from the sudden trauma. He uncorked a green bottle, pouring out a sickly neon liquid that gave off fumes. Arabell tried to hold herself up using her other leg, keeping the pressure off her other leg as the blood gushed. It stung, deeply, as if she was being burned from the inside. Her body began to give in, flashes of black clouding her eyes. Something tugged her back from the faint feeling, and she realized the wound was starting to close up a bit. He walked over, a dagger dripping with green liquid in his right hand, and golden magic swirling carelessly in the other. More poison. He held the knife to her left side, a stinging feeling radiating from it. She jolted to the side, in an instinctive effort to get away from the pain. He smirked.

"Perhaps next time, we'll learn to keep our mouths closed." He spoke, slicing the dagger across her side.

The poison shot straight into her bloodstream, once again causing her whole body to jerk. She coughed, choking on screams and gasping for air. Her lungs felt hot and full, like she couldn't take in any air, nearly suffocating her. Her legs gave out, as she shook slightly, her mind going blank and numb with pain. The mage scoffed, gathering his notes and heading out, leaving her in that state. She tried to focus, unable to channel in on why. Her mind was racing, screaming for her to fight, to stand, to give up, to focus, to panic, to remain calm all at once. He vision began to blur slightly, as her head dangled, before she finally passed out.


	5. Chapter 5

Arabell rolled out her sleeping mat, flopping onto it face first and letting out muffled noises. Marcurio, who was busy tending to the fire, didn't even look up. She pulled a thick blanket over her, rolling over and glancing up at the stars. This was her favorite part of traveling. Millions of lights dotted the sky over them, bunches of starts in an almost blueish colored sky. The moon was full and beautiful, accompanying the billions of dots. She listened in silence for a moment, appreciating the crackling of the fire, the soft chirping crickets, and the general calm of the night. She glanced over at her mage, who was playing with the fire, feeding it more flames and then taking them away. Looking back up at the stars, her mind began to wander.

"Hey." She said suddenly. Her voice broke the silence that surrounded the area. Marcurio glanced up, but was still focused on the flames.

"What is it?" He said, a hint of annoyance that she broke his concentration. She smiled, but her smile fell, looking up at the stars.

"I've been thinking," She finally said. "If I get killed, you can keep my houses." Marcurio paused, the fire stopped flickering in his hands and he had a momentary look of confusion on his face.

"What?" He finally said, still unsure where the topic had even come from. She shrugged, rolling to one side and looking over at him.

"I'm serious." She said, looking at the burning wood in the heart of the flames. "If something happens, if we're out somewhere and things go south, you're the only one I trust with my personal things-" Marcurio cut her off.

"Why would you assume something is going to happen to you?" He said, waiting silently for her response. She mulled it over in her thoughts.

"I suppose," She said, after some time "Being who I am, I'm sure there are going to be people after me. I don't exactly have a stable reputation." She picked up a stick, prodding at the embers. "I'm just being realistic-"

"You say this like I won't be there to prevent it." He snapped. Arabell sat up, looking over at him, a frown on her face.

"That's not what I mean and you know it." She spoke softly. He grumbled under his breath. She sighed. "I just mean.." She started, unsure how to say this without it sounding like a sentimental mess. "You're my closest friend, and gods forbid anything happens, I would leave everything to you." There was heavy silence for a while, with nothing but the sounds of nature around them. Marcurio finally huffed, pulling a blanket around himself to aid against the chilly air.

"Well." He finally said. "I guess I'll just need to make sure that never happens." Arabell smiled, giggling at his sassy remark.

"What would I do without you?" She said, pulling up her blankets and rolling over.

Arabell awoke to a silent, empty room. The fire had died, and the winter chill was creeping through the cracks, chilling her to the bone. She shivered, unable to stand from exhaustion that plagued her whole body. She shifted her legs under herself, the stab wound still throbbing painfully. Her mind was fuzzy, a mixture of pain and after effects of the poison clouding her thoughts. She stretched her neck, assessing each of her injuries and deciding what limbs were still useful. Aside from the drained energy, so would be alright. The slashes on her arms hurt, but had been closed up and weren't bleeding anymore, along with all the other cuts and abrasions. Her side was the worst. It still occasionally dripped blood, and the poison had caused the edges of her skin to burn painfully. Arabell groaned, wanting nothing more than a stiff drink and a week of sleep. The silence was horrid, nothing but cold wind and the shifting of stone that sent dust scattering. Her body temperature was dropping, and as she shivered, her mind wandered to better times. She could remember the first time she used a bow, an odd thought, but comforting none the less. Alone with her thoughts in this musky, bloody chamber.

She had taken her time picking one that best suited her, from a wide selection the traveling merchants carried with them around Skyrim, eager to sell their wares. A beautiful, handcrafted glass bow caught her eyes. Carefully sculpted in flames, its long curved arches drew her into its grasp. The handle fit her left hand perfectly, seating itself into her grasp and becoming an extension of her arm. She asked the merchant is she could test it, who eagerly agreed and hurried into his hut to fetch several arrows. She knocked the arrow, finding a small spruce tree to target and pulling back with a long breath. Her fingertips wrapped around the string, pulling it back before slipping off the edges. The arrow whizzed through the air, twirling gracefully as it lodged into the side of the tree. Not a perfect shot, but not terrible either. She purchased the bow in a heartbeat, eager to practice with it on everything, and anything that crossed her path. Those were still in her early days, when the world still seemed so innocent. She waited in anticipation, knowing that the door was going to open again at any moment and that the torture would resume. For the time being though, she was alone. She sighed, whistling in an attempt to keep the silence at bay, when the handle began to jiggle. She shut her mouth, eyes trained on the door that slowly opened.

The mage was back, still donning the bandages on his hand that was stained with blood. He didn't speak, merely opened his journal, reading notes as he began working. Arabell stared at him the whole time, watching his movements and studying what he was working on. He did his best to keep his back to her, obviously ignoring her. She smiled, kicking a small stone at him. It clattered over to his feet. He stopped working, reaching down and picking it up and setting it on the table. Arabell persisted in the art of annoying him, whistling an annoying, repetitive tune. After several minutes he slammed down the bottle, turning and glaring daggers at her.

"Will you shut up." He said, picking up a pair of prying tools. Arabell eyed his hand where the tool sat, before she began to softly laugh. The mage was not amused, walking over with a furious glare. "What is so funny?" He spat. Arabell looked up at him, a grin on her face.

"You think you're going to intimidate me with that?" She said, chuckling. "You'll find I don't break easily." She spat at his face. The mage wiped his face with his sleeve, before carefully setting the tool down and suddenly reeling back, punching her in the face. She whipped her head back from the impact, hitting it against the hard stone behind her and seeing stars. The laugh continued to echo from her throat, as another fist collided with her jaw. He was resorting to brute force, growing impatient. Punch after punch hit her, in her stomach, her chest, her face, and everywhere else, before the man finally stepped away, shaking his hand that was bleeding from the force of each blow. Arabell spat blood at the ground, tasting the metallic flavor that stained her mouth.

He picked up a small knife, pressing it against her wounded side and causing a small scream to escape her. He pressed the point of the blade against her, his other hand coming to life with swirling power that radiated close to her. She expected a shock, when instead he grabbed the knife with his magic infused hand, sending shooting lighting down the metal and searing her wound, then radiating through the rest of her body. She yelled in pain until her vocal chords gave out, and she was left to silently scream. The mage's eyes were full of anger, pulling the knife away as her body collapsed. Arabell was half-consciously buzzing, when she felt the anger welling in her soul once more. With the last bit of strength she had, she desperately tried to hold back, clamping her mouth shut. Her hands balled into fists, and the energy began to swirl into a typhoon through her soul. Her eyes blazed angrily and she felt her teeth shake with furry. The man set the knife down, picking up another tool, before he glanced towards the door. The sound of a bottle breaking and cheers rang out, drunken yells echoing down the hall. He sneered, remarking on the constant drunken rabble before turning to his victim, his eyes widening. Arabell lost her control, opening her mouth. "Fus" she breathed, the air swirling inside her lungs. "Ro," She said, slightly louder. The mage took only a second to recognize the language, frantically scrambling out of the way. But a second was too late. "Da" she finally yelled.

A rush of power expelled from her mouth, power beyond compare, catching the mage's whole body and throwing him across the room like a rag doll. Thunder echoed around the room as he slammed into the wall, crying out in pain as his arm dislocated and shattered the whole way down the bone. Arabell dropped, completely spent of energy, gasping for air. The mage stood, holding his shattered arm and cursing everything he could name. He looked at her, rage on his face. Arabell gave a tired little laugh, smirking at him. It was worth whatever came next to see him dethroned from his pedestal like that. The mage grabbed a long silver sword, walking over to her. Arabell challenged him with her eyes, knowing this was probably the end. With lighting in one hand and a crafted sword in the other, he strolled over. Arabell closed her eyes. She was tired, and in pain, and her willpower was running on empty. Each footstep he caused against the stone that drew closer signified the end, and she breathed deeply, waiting for the inevitable. The sound of lighting echoed around the room, a loud, powerful crack of power that seemed to shake the tables and walls themselves, but no pain followed. Arabell dared to open her eyes, glancing at the mage. He had a look of shock and pain on his face, the sword clattered out of his hand, and he slumped to the ground, shaking slightly and foaming at the mouth from the bolt that shot him. Arabell lifted her eyes, a wave of relief washing over her.

In the doorway, Marcurio stood, one hand still outstretched from the shock he had delivered. His face dropped when he saw her, rushing over to aid his friend. Arabell looked back down to the mage, who was half-consciously twitching on the floor.

"Choke on that you son of a whore." She muttered. Marcurio quickly assessed her, worry thick in his voice. Arabell heard what he was saying but couldn't focus enough to understand the sentences. Warm light enveloped her whole body, causing her to give a relieved sigh as the magic slowly soothed her. Her consciousness and sharp mind began to return, giving new life to her tired limbs. She glanced up at her mage, a small smile on her face.

"What took you so long." She said softly, a hint of sass in her voice. Marcurio sighed, half annoyed but mostly worried as he rummaged through the half-dead mage's robes, producing a key. He quickly unlocked her shackles, causing Arabell to collapse under her self. He quickly caught her, helping her up.

"I told you going alone was a bad idea, but no, you couldn't listen to my warning, you had to be the hero like always didn't you?" Arabell was leaning on him for support, her eyes closed.

"I'm happy to see you too." She said, grimacing in pain at her leg.

"Can you walk?" He asked, noticing the amount of pain in her leg and how she favored it. Arabell nodded, revengeful anger creeping back into her soul.

"There's something I need to take care of." She said, hopping over to the chest full of her belongings.


	6. Chapter 6

Kyra had been in charge of the gang of bandits for 5 years now. When the original leader began to skimp on the paychecks, and grew lazy in his ways, she had taken him out in front of the others as a show of dominance. She had inherited all of the wealth, and perks that came with her position, and soon all of the others developed a fierce loyalty to her. Her second in command, Grundge, was nothing but muscle. He didn't have the brains or skill to take care of himself, but he did have the strength to kill wolves with his bare hands. Kyra had hand-selected him as her personal guard to her chambers, standing watch outside as she worked. The few other factions they worked with were sparse and far apart. The most prominent of all of these was the thieves guild. They were persistent in their collections, demanding their monthly tariff for goods and information that was always overpriced. Kyra had finally had enough, and began refusing to pay altogether. They had received several letters of warning, and some of her own had grown weary of their appearance. Kyra, of course, had them executed, as an example to the others about wavering loyalty. She only lost two men, and hadn't had any problems since.

Now, with a prisoner of the guild as her own, she could negotiate in her favor. They wouldn't admit it, but the guild cared about their own. With a skilled mage torturing her, she could use the emotions of the business against them, and if need be, kill her as a warning that they were not to be trifled with. She was about halfway through the letter when sounds began to reach her, drunken bar fights and brawls usually filled the chambers at this time. She sighed in annoyance, dipping her quill back into the ink, and writing another string of demands and threats. The brawling grew louder, and the building almost seemed to quake up the stairs to her door. She set the quill down, walking over and unlatching her door. Her guard still stood at attention, silently leaned against the wall. The noise seemed to die down as she opened the door, fading away and she assumed the wreckage was finally over. If any more tables were broken, it was coming out of everyone's gold. She shut the door, brushing it off as too much mead, and walked back over to her chambers, forgetting to latch the door behind her. A gurgling sound caught her attention, and she looked back towards the door. The sound vanished just as soon as it appeared, replaced by silence. She quietly grabbed a dagger from her table, taking a step towards her door and placing her hand on the handle. Carefully, she inched it open.

Grundge was on the ground, an arrow pierced all the way through his neck and his eyes rolled back in his head. Arabell threw herself against the door, slamming it into Kyra's face and sending her a few steps. The two warriors stared at each other for a moment. Arabell was completely calm externally, a fire brewing inside her that showed in her eyes. Kyra was an unprepared mess, clinging to her dagger and eyeing up the sword she kept on her shelf. Marcurio shut the door behind him, latching it and leaning against the wall. Kyra eyed him up, assessing her chances at taking them both out. Arabell took her opportunity, kicking her knee out. Kyra collapsed to the ground, rolling away to avoid another kick. Arabell drew one of her swords calmly, she was saving her energy, toying with the leader. Marcurio watched carefully, watching to ensure her safety. She had made him swear not to get involved unless it was absolutely necessary, and although skeptical she could even lift a blade with her injuries, he had agreed. She walked towards Kyra slowly, rolling the blade hilt around in her hand. Kyra scrambled to her feet, making a dash for her sword. Arabell slashed her arm, cutting her off from the only real weapon in the room. Kyra yelped, holding her arm as the blood spilled through her fingers. She grabbed the dagger with her other hand, lunging at Arabell, who blocked her slashes carefully, and with unwavering precision and concentration. One of the flails cut her arm, and she angrily shoved the bandit leader back.

"So many guards," She said, standing over her. "and yet you can't even fight for yourself. How pathetic." Kyra shot up, a dagger aimed for her neck. Arabell didn't even move, but she also didn't hesitate to open her mouth, sending a shout of energy that sent Kyra slamming into the stone.

The sound of shattering bone echoed around the room, and the leader screamed, holding her leg in agony. Arabell walked over, cold and unfeeling rage on her face.

"Wait." Kyra stammered, sitting up and crying out in pain again "You need me, you can't kill me." She said, reaching for her blade. Arabell kicked the dagger away, pushing Kyra's chin up with her sword.

"Is that so?" She said, a hint of amusement in her terrifying voice. "Enlighten me as to why." Kyra's eyes were wide with panic, as she desperately tried to reason with her.

"Because that's not how the thieves guild works," She spat out. "you intimidate, but you don't kill, it is not in your nature." She was bluffing, but not entirely. It was true, one of the golden rules for the guild was that their clients stayed alive. A dead bandit was no use to them and certainly, couldn't make them any money. Arabell let the thought rest in her a mind for a moment, just one second, before she weighed it with everything she had been through. She leaned down a bit, meeting her gaze with a wide grin.

"Your contract." Kyra stammered. "You have to keep me alive-" Arabell pressed the point of the blade against her chest, the grin still in place.

"Screw the contract." She said. Kyra opened her mouth to speak, but it was in vain. Arabell brought the blade back, before ramming it straight through her chest. It collided with stone on the other side, running her all the way through. The realization sparkled in Kyra's eyes, as blood pooled from her mouth. She reaches for the blade, her hand falling limply as the last of the light died from her eyes.

Arabell stood, groaning in pain at her bad leg. Marcurio was there in an instant to support her, helping her regain her balance.

"Are you alright?" He asked, a concerned look in his eyes. She nodded, before nearly collapsing as a wave of dizzying blackness washed over her. Sound became muffled for a moment, before she felt herself moving forward. When she opened her eyes again, she glanced up, at her surroundings. She was indeed moving forwards, but her feet weren't moving, instead, she was being carried. Marcurio has her bag over his shoulder, muttering occasionally about how listening to him would have got her out of this mess originally. She smiled, half awake, and laid her head to the side. Exhaustion was hitting her in waves. She was finally safe.


	7. Chapter 7

Arabell groggily swung herself up onto the white and gray horse, nearly falling off the other side in the process. Marcurio made sure she was alright before pulling himself onto the horse.

"Where did you even get this horse." She mumbled, leaning on him. He went silent for a moment before answering.

"I may have borrowed it without permission." Arabell laughed.

"Marcurio," she said, "did you steal this horse?" He went quiet, causing her to laugh more.

"I left money for it!" He said, huffing. Arabell laughed softly, resting against him. The horse walked slowly, grunting in the cold winter air as its heavy feet left marks, crunching the imprints into the snow. Arabell let the warm light shine down on her, along with a few stray snowflakes filtering through the air. The air was chilled, but fresh and clear. She breathed deeply, the gate of the horse lulling her to sleep.

The world was black around Arabell as she slept, until her mind gently began to pull her away. The first thing she noticed was the warmth that surrounded her. Soft blankets were laid over her body, and she could hear a fireplace somewhere crackling. She blinked awake, noticing the wooden ceiling above her head. She sat up, looking down at herself. Her wounds were wrapped with a thick white bandage, and the pain was more of a dull inconvenience anymore. Arabell carefully pushed the blanket back, swinging her legs over the side and pushing herself up, her feet pressed against the worn wooden floor. She grabbed the bedpost, pushing herself up, a wave of dizziness hitting her and sending her straight back down. She sighed, laying back down and pulling the blankets up. Footsteps indicated that someone was coming towards the room, and Marcurio soon pushed the door open, glancing in.

"You're up." He said, leaning against the door-frame. She nodded, feeling at the bandages around her wrists. "How do you feel?" he asked. She looked up at him, a small frown.

"I'm alright I suppose." She said, testing the strength of her arms. "A little tired and weak, and in pain, but alright." He walked in, leaving the door half open behind him.

"You know that's not what I meant." He said, sitting in a chair to her right. She looked back down at the bandages, slowly peeling one back to look at the damage. Red, blistered burns were in a perfect ring around each of her wrists, marks courtesy of where the lighting had seared her skin. She pushed the bandages back into place, still looking down.

"I said before, I'm alright." He sighed next to her, causing her to look up.

"You should know I don't believe that." He remarked, his voice full of sass and concern.

A heavy silence filled the air between them, as the time passed on. The seconds dragged, thickening the tension, before she finally spoke.

"Truthfully," she said, still refusing to make eye contact with him. "I don't know how I feel, I have a lot of thoughts, and a lot of...I'm not sure." She pulled the blanket closer around her, wincing in pain and holding her arms. Marcurio frowned, golden magic appeared in his hand. He gently held his hand out towards her, causing her to flinch hard. She immediately calmed down, remembering where she was with a shaky sigh. It seemed even Skyrim's hero was vulnerable at times. Marcurio had retracted his hand, cutting the magic off instantly. A concerned look was spread across his face, his eyes holding a hint of hurt in the way she had jerked away from him. She mumbled an apology, still holding her wrists. He moved more carefully this time, keeping his hands where she could see them and letting the golden light flow from his fingers. The soothing energy wrapped its way up her arms, blotting out the pain of the burns and helping the skin heal. She sighed in relief. Her companion sat back, crossing his arms.

"Are you hungry?" He asked her, his voice taking on a soft tone from its usual sassy demeanor. Arabell hadn't even considered how starved she was, and nodded slowly. He got up and left the room, leaving the door hanging open. Arabell held her head, a small headache coming on from the fatigue and lack of food. She had been so focused on surviving that she hadn't once considered making it out, and the aftermath she would be left to deal with. She was not a weak woman, but this had been on the urge of breaking her. The warrior settled back into bed, closing her eyes. The house was secluded, in the middle of the woods not far from Falkreath. It was a good place to get away, an able fort, and a place she often visited to ease her mind and recover after long missions. The surrounding forest and scenery were ideal for rebuilding strength, and just resting peacefully.

The footsteps up the stairs told her he was coming back, and she opened her eyes, sitting back up. Marcurio peaked in to make sure she was awake, before entering with an assortment of food. Bowls of fresh sliced vegetables and fruits, fresh bread that still smelled of firewood and flame, accompanied by a dish of cream butter, two separate bowls of soup, a plate of roasted potatoes that even had herbs sprinkled on them, and a sliced and roasted chunk of what she guessed to be venison. She smiled, her gut gurgling in agreement. Usually, she teased him for his cooking skills when they were traveling together, watching as he made sure every meal had traces of fine dining, even in the middle of the woods on cold winter nights. But for now, she was grateful. He carefully set the tray beside her, warning her of which foods were hot and insisting that she not eat too fast. She rolled her eyes, but enjoyed his sass none the less. She would never admit it, but it was his best quality. His snarky comments could make anything more interesting. She grabbed the first thing she could reach, a bowl of what tasted like vegetable soup, scarfing it down as fast as possible despite his warnings and earning a heavy sigh. He sat with a sigh, picking up a book and reading through its contents as she devoured half the food in record time. For every banter and argument they had, they both cared deeply about each other. Arabell wiped her mouth, glancing over at her mage to find him absorbed into a book on Dwemer technology. She decided to let him read, laying back and closing her eyes to rest her weary body. A warmth spread through her, with her stomach full of good food and warmth. She dozed off occasionally, but stayed conscious through most of the day, her strength returning little by little.

Her eyes opened when she sensed movement. Marcurio had set his book down, rising from his chair and aiming to give her time to rest. Without thinking her hand shot out, grabbing his arm before he could leave. He raised an eyebrow, giving her a shocked look. She meant to let go, finding her grip tightening a bit.

"Don't leave." She said softly, almost looking like a scared child. He was hesitant for a second, before sitting back down. She let go suddenly, realizing she still had a death grip on his wrist. He gave her a puzzled but curious look. She looked away, once again unable to meet the gaze of his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with her own words.

"When I was bleeding out, or going unconscious," She began, finally looking up "You were all that kept me sane." She looked away, know exactly how childish it sounded, yet it was the truth. Receding in the depths of her mind was the only option, there was was safe, and free to relive the moments she enjoyed. "The memories are all I had, the good days I've had, and you were in every one of them." She said, her voice low now. She glanced up to meet his gaze, noticing the curious but soft look he was giving her. She held her breath, hoping she hadn't been too intrusive. He sat back in the chair, letting her give a mental sigh of relief.

"You should sleep." He said, picking up another book, and dusting it off. She smiled, but laid back, pulling the warm heavy blankets up, and dozing off to sleep, soundly letting the wave of sleep pass over her and giving into its comforting embrace.


	8. Chapter 8

After several days of resting, Arabell began to regain her strength. She began to heal faster, and although there were still marks around her wrists and her leg was still sore, she felt much better. She woke that morning to find the room empty. From the bright but faint filtering light, she guessed that it was very early morning. The house was warm and peaceful, and as she pushed herself up with a small groan, the walls seemed to settle around her. She pulled her clothes on slowly, testing each wound as she did so, before standing carefully. Her wounded leg threatened to buckle, and she hissed in pain, forcing herself to take a few steps into the hallway. She hobbled over to a chair, flopping into it with a disappointed grunt. She stretched her leg gently, trying to avoid a cramp that was coming. Marcurio walked passed her, humming in amusement. She glared in his general direction, sitting back in her chair.

"I told you to stay in bed longer." He said, his voice full of sass. She rolled her eyes, knowing that he was right this time.

"I'm losing my mind just laying there." She said, rolling an apple around the small side table with her hand. "I just want to be back to myself." He sat in the chair on the other side of the table.

"These things take time." He said, stopping the apple that rolled towards him with his hand. She groaned, flopping back in protest causing him to snort, fighting a laugh. He was her best friend, but he could also be an ass. He rolled that apple back to her, and she grabbed it, taking a bite out of the ripe skin.

"You need a hobby other than fighting." He said playfully, crossing his arms. She shrugged, chewing the apple slowly.

It was raining outside, and the rhythmic slap of water against the roof was a calming sound. They sat for awhile, quietly enjoying it. A question was burning in her mind but she was having trouble thinking of a way to word it, or the right time. She shifted in her chair, picking at her nails, a habit she had formed intense situations that require a lot up silent downtime. Marcurio noticed, mentioning that she was doing it which caused her to stop. She grabbed a bottle of mead off the table, popping the cork and throwing a large swig of it back. Wiping the droplets, she looked over at him.

"I have a question." She said, her voice full of alcoholic confidence. He raised an eyebrow.

"Should I be concerned?" came his response. She made a motion of uncertainty, before setting the bottle down.

"Do you think you could help me improve my magic?" She said finally. He stopped drinking, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Are you serious?" He asked. Her heart sank a bit, wondering if he was going to shut her down without question. She nodded halfheartedly, running over how he may take it the wrong way in her head. He set his cup down, sitting back.

"Alright, sure." He said. She perked up, a wide-eyed look of joy on her face. All of the doubt washed away instantaneously, replaced with an overwhelming feeling of excitement.

"Really?" She asked. He laughed at her sudden excitement and the way she turned into an excited child when she was happy about something. It was a side of the warrior not many saw, and he had made the very small list, grateful for how open they could be around each other. She hugged him suddenly, rambling a thank you before running and half hobbling back to her room. He laughed, rolling his eyes halfheartedly and playing with a ball of flames between his hands.

"Try to hit the farthest one." Marcurio remarked, leaning against a tree. Arabell frowned, noting how far away the apple was. They had been working on target practice all morning, and she hadn't felt herself improve at all. The further her targets, the more frequently she missed. She drew in a deep breath, letting her lungs fill to their capacity before she breathed out slowly. Her body calmed as she positioned her feet, forming a tiny cyclone of swirling frost within her palm. She reeled her hand back, the concentration forming on her face. In a swift movement, she thrust her hand forward, shooting a sharp spike of ice flying through the air. It grazed the apple enough to knock it off the pillar. She jumped excitedly, cringing in pain at her bandaged leg. She heard a snort from behind her, whipping around with a deadly glare on her face. He was smiling, holding back a laugh.

"That was a lot better." He said, nodding towards the apple on the ground. The compliment calmed her down enough to huff, turning to practice more shots. It had cleared into a cool, overcast day. A few birds were out, providing a background chorus to the wind that whistled through the trees. Smoke billowed out of the chimney, morphing into the gray skyline. It was a perfect day to begin training again. Arabell sat on a large stump, catching her breath and fighting off the dizziness. Her mage walked over.

"We should stop for the day," He said, sitting. "Overusing your Magicka could slow the healing process and harm you further." She nodded, sighing as her sight cleared back to normal. She hated when he was right. The day was nearing its close, golden, soft light filtering through the trees and illuminating the forest around them. She laid back on the stump, looking up at the sky and enjoying the sounds of nature. With a groan she pushed herself up, swaying a bit as another wave of dizziness washed over her like a heavy blanket, pulling her down. She took a step back, trying to steady herself and failing terribly. Arms caught her as she shook off a headache, standing back upright.

"Thanks." She muttered, hating how helpless she was. He nodded as if it was nothing, picking up the bag they had brought. She hobbled back to the house, refusing any help even if her leg sent a bolt of pain through her with every step.

Marcurio pushed the heavy wooden door open that kept out the chill of the wind, the cozy house greeting them with warm air and delicious scents. She went passed him quietly, settling onto a chair at the table. She watched as he latched the door, looking away as he walked over to where she was seated, sitting across from her. Arabell twirled a dagger around, driving the blade into the wood of the table to pass the time. The warm air was relieving to her aching joints. A silence fell over them, and she retreated to her thoughts. There were words buzzing around in her skull, things she wanted to say that refused to come out, leaving the silence to hang empty and thick in the air. She sighed angrily, stabbing the sharpened blade into the wood suddenly causing him to flinch. He looked at her, and eyebrow raised at her sudden anger, but she refused to meet his gaze, staring intently at the wood.

"Hey." she finally spoke, simple and low. He tilted his head a bit, watching her string of body language that wasn't familiar or like anyway she usually acted.

"What's on your mind?" He asked, pouring out a bottle of mead into two cups, sliding one to her. She caught the cup, looking down at the liquid that sloshed around in the cup. She set it down without taking so much as a sip, while he took a drink.

"I didn't thank you." She said. He set his cup down slowly, his fingers still laced through the handle of the metal mug.

"What do you have to thank me for?" He asked. She searched for the right words, her usually witty demeanor was gone, replaced with a damaged gaze and a soft-spoken tone. She looked up, a serious look in her eyes that gleamed in the low light of the fire and candles.

"For saving my life." She said, her gaze shooting away from him again.

He blinked, mulling over the words she spoke as she sighed, standing up.

"I know I haven't been myself," She started, looking into the fire whos embers burned brightly. "But I'm grateful for what you did for me. If it wasn't for you, I would be dead." She wanted to gag at how cheesy that sounded out loud. "Goodnight." She spoke, walking past him towards the steps. He grabbed her arm suddenly, stopping her in her tracks. She looked back at him, a hint of surprise in her face. He wore a slight frown, standing to meet her eyes.

"You don't need to thank me for something like that." He said, stilling holding her arm tightly, preventing her from leaving. "You're my friend, and you were in danger, I would do it again if it meant keeping you safe." She blinked, unsure of what to say back to that. It was true. Over time they had become more than just mercenaries. He meant more to her than she would admit, and the same stood for him, except she never expected to hear those words out of his mouth." She took a step closer. He let go of her arm, looking at her as if waiting for her response. She smiled softly, a sense of relief washing over her.

"What would I do without you." She said thoughtfully. Marcurio shrugged, a smirk on his face.

"Crash and burn." came his response. They both laughed for a few moments, together in the warm secluded house. There was a feeling that swept through Arabell, one she didn't recognize. She noticed the space between them that had become smaller, and how the room felt as if it were frozen in time. They had both sat back down, and the drinking had began combined with jokes and stories. A feeling of constant warmth filled her chest, that she was sure the coldest winds in the reach couldn't freeze. She pushed the newer feelings to the far cavities of her mind, focusing on the night. Marcurio had left to get a plate of snacks, and Arabell found herself absentmindedly staring where he had sat. A small smile crossed her lips, as she leaned back in the chair.

He emerged from the kitchen with bowls of food that were overflowing. Arabell watched and tried not to laugh as he nearly dropped half of them, setting them on the table and huffing angrily to himself about the laws of gravity. Arabell grabbed a slice of thick bread that crackled in her hand, still warm from the fire. She ripped it in half, smelling the rich baked yeast that filled her taste buds with anticipation. She grabbed a knife, spreading butter over the bread and taking a large bite of the cooked dough. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a hint of something. She flinched, unintentionally dropped the bread onto the table. Marcurio was casually heating a chunk of cold bread with his magic, leaned back in his chair. For some reason, it bothered her. Arabell left the bread on the table, glancing down at it as her stomach churned uncomfortably. He looked up, noticing her change in demeanor.

"Are you alright?" He asked, setting the heated bread down. The last bits of flame dissipated from his hands, and she tried to force herself to act as if nothing was wrong. She opened her mouth to speak, before closing it again, finding nothing to say. He frowned, leaning forward. She jerked away from him without any actual intent to, her eyes widening at the reaction she had just let take over her body.

"I didn't...I wasn't...I" She stammered, trailing off. Marcurio looked at her with concern, before the puzzle pieces put themselves together inside his mind.

"Arabell." He said. She was still too busy rambling nonsense apologies to notice. "Arabell." He repeated. She looked at him, arms crossed over herself in a way that looked like she attempting to hug her own body. He put his hands up gently, in a manner that indicated peace.

"I'm not going to hurt you," He said, meeting her gaze. "I never will, please trust me when I say that." She felt the rush or anxiety trickle from her body, leaving a cold and empty hole. He set his hand on her shoulder, keeping his distance and giving her space. She didn't pull away this time, even though her mind was begging her to flee. Some warrior she was.

He looked at her, concern and a gentle look on his face. She sighed slowly, and breathed in, letting the warm scented air fill her lungs to the brim and calm her terrified mind. Some scars weren't physical. She nodded slowly, feeling the wave of regret wash over her. The way she jerked away from him must have made him think she really didn't trust him. That couldn't be further from the truth. It was late, and it was still in the settlement. The candles were burning low, and the fire had become their main source of light.

"It's late." she mumbled, trying to stand and struggling with her leg. He offered her a hand, which she took gratefully. She stood, not expecting the dizziness that overcame her and causing her to stumble forward. Marcurio quickly caught her, and she grabbed him for support fearing she would still tumble to the floor. Arabell breathed a sigh of relief, looking up and suppressing a feeling of heat rushing over her face. She had fallen into him, and was still against him, looking up into his hazel eyes. Her eyes widened as embarrassment rushed into her face. They both stood there frozen for a second, unable to look away. She pushed herself back, standing on her own. He blinked, quietly looking at her. Neither of them knew what to say. Arabell brushed her hair back, mumbling an apology and heading up the steps behind him. He watched as she headed to her room, shutting the door behind her.

Arabell dropped into bed, a heavy blush upon her face. She felt unbearably stupid. The candle on her nightstand flickered, as if passing her and her reaction. She rolled her eyes, pulling her thick armored jacket off, relaxing back into bed in her black undershirt. The ceiling seemed to stare her down as she looked up to it. She groaned, pulling the covers up and blowing out the judgmental flame. What was she getting herself into with these careless feelings?


	9. Chapter 9

Marcurio was tending to the fire in the early hours of the morning. He had hardly slept and was quietly striking the embers. He grunted as they came to life, before quickly dying out. The mage grabbed a fresh log, tossing it in and casting a wave of fire after it. The log sparked to life, engulfed in flames. It crackled and sizzled as he stood, glancing at the damage from the previous night. Neither of them had thought to clean up in the situation, and there was a considerably sized mess on the table that bugged him. He gathered up the dishes first, walking to the kitchen. He let the same thoughts run through his mind, mulling over them as he cleaned up the mess. The way she had flinched away from him stuck out to him. With everything that they had been through he never expected her to be scared of him. He set the bowls down, pausing to think. It wasn't her fault, not at all. He could still recall finding her.

It had been two days, and Arabell was supposed to be back hours ago. Perhaps he was overreacting, but the days were winding down, creeping closer towards three. Their agreement stood at three. Marcurio sighed, finishing his drink and grabbing his bag. If she wasn't going to come home, he would just have to find her himself. He put the leather bag over his back, laying out a map, and studying the possible routes to the place she had gone. He traced the warn paper with a finger, following the roads and paths that would get him the closest, and creating his own from there. The mage took one more glance around the house, and at the paper in front of him, before rolling it up and heading for the door.

"What have you got yourself into this time Arabell." He voiced aloud, shutting the door and heading off towards the destination. The roads were long and at times treacherous. Whipping wind that froze everything in its path swirled around him. He shivered, brushing it off and carrying on. He carried one sword that sometimes only collected dust in its holster. It was Arabell's request that he carried a physical weapon, just in case he needed it. Even though he had bantered with her on the topic, he had reluctantly agreed. She made a good point, but his magic still stood as his main weapon.

It took nearly a day for him to find the road he was looking for. He sighed, knowing still there was a long track ahead of him, when a noise caught his attention. Not far up the hill on a small, jutted ridge was a camp. Two hunters sat around a small fire, making conversation as they cooked and gutted there kills for the day. Marcurio wasn't interested in them, but the two tied horses a few paces away from their camp caught his eye. He crept over, gently patting the first horse who was slightly spooked at his sudden presence. He gently pet its gray and white fur, speaking softly to calm the animal. He put together a sizable coin purse, leaving it tied to the rope that had held the horse, climbing into its tall back and taking off up the road. By the time the hunters realized something was wrong, he was gone, leaving the coin purse swinging slowly in its place. The horse breathed heavy, galloping along the dirt path with thundering hooves that echoed through the forest. He pulled the reigns, signaling a hard left. The horse skidded, regaining its footing and picking up the speed in the new direction. The closer they got, the more he worried, and the pit in his stomach signaling something was wrong grew. He scanned the area, on high alert, slowing the horse to a trot. Something caught his eyes, and he smelled the smoke that rose into the air from fireplaces and pits. The towers came into view, and he pulled the horse to a stop. Swinging his leg over his dismounted, leading it by the reins behind a large pine tree and tying the reigns tightly. The horse pawed at the ground, finding a small shrub of greenery to much on.

He flipped his gaze to the fort, carefully treading towards it. In a few places through the snow, dried blood stained the ground. He clenched his jaw, fearing the worst and preparing for it. The fort was abandoned to the novice onlooker, but to an experienced mercenary, slow-moving guards patrolled the paths high above the ground. There was no stealthy way in, but luckily, there were only a few guards on duty. The sun was coming up bright in the chilly air. After a few minutes of careful study, he memorized the pattern they walked, and concentrated. Bolts of lightning formed in his hands, powerful blasts that if timed right, could kill you instantly. He watched the lookouts move in sync with each other, charging the magic that welled up in his hands. They walked along the long paths, before turning at the same time. He fired, lightning bolts shooting through both of their chests. They both paused for a moment, before crashing to the ground. It was a perfect shot. He moved away from the brush that had hidden him, wiping away the pine needles and moving ahead carefully, looking for any more bandits he could have missed. The whole compound only had three external guards, one which he found half drunk near the stables, who blindly swung a dagger at him. A single shot took care of him, his jolting body dropping to the ground and twitching a few times before going limp. Normally a sight as such would make him grimace, but he had business to take care of, and he couldn't let a few casualties get in his way of finding her.

He ruffled through the drunken man's corpse, producing a key. The silver piece of metal fit perfectly into the lock, and the door swung open with ease. He stepped in, shutting it softly behind him. The sound of laughter echoed down the halls from a chamber. Marcurio readied a spell, creeping along the wall and using any furniture as a point to sneak behind. A guard came down the hall just as he slipped behind a cabinet. He watched as she passed, a heavy metal mace hanging from her belt. With her strong armor, it would take a few shots to bring her down, and that would create too much noise. His mind raced as she started to head further down the hall. Something clicked in his brain and he had an idea. The guard reached the end of her path, sighing and turning around. Marcurio slammed into her, knocking her down. Her eyes widened in surprise, but before she could speak his knife was at her throat. She swallowed, trying to suppress the fear that was clear on her face. He made a shushing motion, pushing the blade more into her neck. She nodded slowly.

"Where's the girl you're keeping here." He asked coldly, a blank look on his face. She smirked.

"Go to hell, I'm dead either way." She said, batting her eyelashes. He grimaced.

"I'll give you one more chance to think that over." He said, not wanting the most likely outcome of this. She laughed slightly.

"What, you don't have the balls to kill me?" She spat. He sighed, before slitting her throat. Shock went across her face as she realized what just happened. He stood, putting the blade away and walking down the hall as she gasped for air on the ground, before going limp.

The sound of drinking merriment got louder as he crept along, finding the source of it. Light spilled out into the hallway from a large chamber, where badly sung drinking songs and laughter echoed. He glanced around the corner, looking around the room. Six various men and woman were having a wonderful time getting completely hammered. One was laying on a table swinging his sword, others were cracking up around a table and two were singing loudly. Marcurio breathed deeply. He took out a bottle of poison, carefully coating his blade in the event he needed it. His hands sparked to life, and he stepped around the corner, whistling. The drinking and laughter stopped as soon as they saw him. There was a second of complete calm and quiet, before all hell broke loose. They all reached for their weapons, and he began shooting. Someone swung a mace at his head, causing him to lean all the way back to avoid it. He grabbed their arm, twisting it and causing them to lose their grip and shooting sparks into them. A woman ran at him from the left, using a chair to jump up and bring the sword down towards him. He rolled out of the way into the path of a man that just clipped his shoulder with the previously dropped mace. He kicked their legs out, slamming the man's head into the stone floor. The woman had regained her balance, and swung wildly at him. He dodged out of the way, grabbing his own sword and managing to slice her arm. She stumbled, looking at her arm before collapsing. Three men rushed at him from one side. He narrowed his eyes, putting his arms out a bit and spinning. A mixture of fire and lighting circled him, enveloping the rest who screamed and tried to douse the flames. He made easy work of them with the poisoned sword, until the room was quiet and peaceful.

Marcurio followed the path through the fort, when something caught his ears. A faint scream pierced the air of the cold stone walls, and a feeling of panic rose in him as he recognized the noise. Arabell. He ran down the halls, trying to locate the source of the sound. He got closer, halting to a stop. Just outside of the room the sound echoed was a guard, who grabbed his blade upon seeing the mage. He swore under his breath, dashing to the side as a dagger whipped passed him. He summoned his magic, the warrior cocking his head and drawing a second sword. Before they could clash, however, a noise that nearly broke the barrier of sound echoed through the halls, ripping the air in its path and shaking the stone walls. The warrior looked towards the room, a fatal mistake. Marcurio grabbed his sword, pushing it through his back and through his chest. The man flinched, and grabbed the blade, before sinking to his knees. He ripped the blade out, hurrying back to the room. It was locked. He cursed again, rummaging through the guard's pockets until he found the key. He shoved it into the lock, slamming the door open into the room. His eyes widened. Another mage stood with his back turn in front of his friend, a sword raised. Rage and power fueled his attack, and he shot a powerful bolt of lightning straight through his body. The man collapsed without ever knowing who struck him. Arabell was chained and bloody, her eyes opened and looked up at him, and a sense of relief filled the whole room. She was badly hurt, but she was alive, and he would take it. The sight of the strongest woman he knew so defeated had shaken him a bit, but none the less, he would get her out of that wretched place if it cost him everything.

Marcurio brought himself back to reality by tripping over a chair, dropping a bowl of apples that scattered across the floor. He sighed loudly, gathering them back up, the memory still fresh in his mind. He stood, walking them to the kitchen and dumping the apples back into the basket they came from. He walked back out to the dining room, sitting in a wooden chair and sitting in silence. It was too quiet for his taste, and being alone with nothing but his thoughts was driving him crazy. He glanced towards the steps. Arabell was most likely still asleep, but he didn't exactly know that for sure. After debating it for several minutes, he stood, making his way up the steps.


	10. Chapter 10

Arabell had been laying in bed awake for several hours. She heard clamor downstairs that signified her companion was awake. Thoughts of the previous day were bouncing around in her head. She sat up, testing her bad leg and standing slowly. She was healing, if slowly, but she was still healing. Carefully she limped to the door, aiming to head downstairs and speak with him. She grasped the handle opening the door to find him standing there, reaching for the door handle she had just removed. He blinked, his arm still outstretched. She repressed a laugh as he slowly lowered it. He scratched the back of his head, at a loss for words. She laughed and he smiled at the situation.

"Good morning." She said between laughs.

"The same to you." He replied, leaning in the doorway. She stepped out, closing the door behind her.

"Breakfast?" She asked heading for the steps.

"Actually, I wanted to talk." He said, walking after her. She looked at him, and nodded.

"Can we at least sit?" She questioned, shifting her weight. "My leg is killing me." He nodded and they sat at a small circular table across from each other.

"What's on your mind?" She said, sure she already knew the answer. He hesitated, tapping on the table.

"Did you ask me about improving your magic because of what happened?" That was not the question she was expecting. She stumbled over her words, looking for the right way to answer. With a long breath, she composed herself.

"Sort of." She said slowly. He studied her for a moment.

"Yesterday," He said after a pause, "the way you flinched-" She cut him off.

"It wasn't because of you." She said, looking away and rubbing her wrists. He looked at her, trying to fit together what she was saying. A look of realization washed over him.

"The burn marks," He started. "They were-"

"From sparks." She finished, looking at her healing skin. He frowned.

"Are you scared of magic?" He asked. She looked up at him, thinking about the question. No, she wasn't scared of magic, not at all. She was scared of the people who could use it.

"Not necessarily..." she trailed off. He leaned back, crossing his arms and thinking.

"It seems like it." He said. She raised an eyebrow, leaning on the table.

"What do you mean?" she responded, a hint of unjustified anger rising in her. Marcurio reached into the cabinet behind him, grabbing two bottles of ale and sliding one to her. She caught the bottle, setting it down on the table unopened. Arabell was in no mood to drink.

"You've never taken the slightest interest in it before, and suddenly you want to master it in one day?" He questioned, sipping the bottle's contents. She furrowed her brows.

"Maybe I'm just interested in learning another way to defend myself." She spoke, her voice sharp and precise. He shook his head.

"No, that's unlike you," He said, tapping the bottle. "If you wanted a better way to protect yourself, you would say so up front." She sat quietly, looking at him. He was right of course, Arabell was always upfront with what she wanted.

She sighed and stood, walking a few paces and looking out the window.

"No." She said finally. "You're right, I don't want any more tactics or strategies." She turned, looking at him. "But I do want to understand it." He stood, walking over and leaning on the wall beside her.

"Why didn't you just say that originally then?" He always had to question everything. She was silent, looking away from him. He frowned, tilting his head slightly.

"Because it terrifies me." She said softly.

"I thought magic didn't scare you." He retaliated.

"It doesn't!" She said, getting more frustrated.

"Well, what does?" He asked. She was fuming, and the leash on her tongue slipped away.

"I'm not scared of magic," she snapped "but people that use it." He nearly winced at her comment, but she kept speaking before he could put in his response.

"And I don't want to be scared of the one person I trust and care about." Silence fell over the room, filling the space between them. Her emotions simmered away, leaving nothing but regret in her mouth. Awhile passed as they both stood there, both not speaking. She felt a hand on her arm, and looked up. He looked back at her, a serious look on his face.

"I'm with you no matter what, you know that." He said. Her gaze softened, and she stepped forward, hugging him tightly. He hesitated before returning the embrace.

"I'm sorry." She muttered. He shook his head, looking down at her.

"Don't be." He said. She breathed deeply, her fears seeming to subside as she was pressed up against him. He smelled like warm fire and fresh air, with a hint of pine. It was soothing. A sharp pain went through her leg and she jolted, cursing. He noticed and helped her stay standing.

"You should rest." He said. She nodded slowly, and he helped her to her room.

Marcurio pushed the wooden doors open, scattering a bit of dust in the light that spilled in. She was holding onto him for support, but a part of her didn't want to let go. She limped to the edge of her bed, sitting down and glancing up at him. Instead of leaving like she had expected he sat next to her. Arabell leaned into him, closing her eyes. She felt comfortable around him, knowing that she could trust his every move. He was the reason she was alive, and she was grateful. A feeling of warmth enveloped her as she leaned on him, something that wasn't there before.

"Do you feel it too." He muttered. She looked up, a little surprised at his suggestion. Both of them blushed, looking into each other's eyes. Something internal pushed her closer to him and he responded, leaning closer. He reached out, brushing her hair out of her face. She smiled, feeling her face flush, placing her hands on his chest. She paused, looking up at him.

"Are you okay with this?" She asked, waiting patiently for his answer. He laughed softly, before nodding. She smiled, tilting her head up a bit. They came together, kissing softly and innocently. He placed his hand on the side of her face, and she shut her eyes, falling deeper into the moment. Both of their eyes were shut, lost in the moment and pushing to be closer.

They finally broke apart, gasping for air after a while, still in each others space. He brushed back her hair and she wrapped her arms around him, not wanting to lose his warmth.

"That was nice." She said, her voice soft and flowing with each syllable. He smiled, resting his chin on her head.

"Very much so." Was his response. She felt the hours of the day winding down, and her body giving into the tiredness that exhaustion brought.

"We should do that more often." She said, looking up at him with a sweet smile.

"I agree." He said with a playful grin. "But you should rest, for now, you're still recovering." She groaned but nodded. He went to move away from her, but she grabbed his jacket, gripping it tightly in her hand. He gave her a puzzled look, and she looked up at him.

"Please stay." She said softly. He looked at her for a moment and she could tell her was deciding what to say. Finally, he nodded, helping her lay down and take the pressure off her leg. She sighed, relaxing into the comfortable blankets and glancing to her left. Marcurio was next to her, his eyes shut as he laid beside her. She smiled, shutting her own eyes. The house settled around them, each creak a comforting chorus as the day carried on. Midday was perfect for a nap, and in the company of her mage, she could rest easy. The worst was behind them, and each day brought the promise of new challenges and opportunities. And they would face them all, together.


End file.
